Changing the Narrative

The Act Of Dissimulation

This isn’t me. This shiny skin, this eternally excited person, hopping about life without any tinge of a past. Of an originally bland, moody, closeted skin.

This is a graft, a literally ‘gay’ extraction that is learning new tunes, tunes that played in a far background, in thin, imperceptible wisps. This skin however is leaning close. This new body wants to listen audibly to the workings of his body, of an accepted being.

I type this on a mundane evening, nothing out of the ordinary has happened today, nobody made any prickly remark, nor sentimental gesture your kinds are good at. Does that sound harsh? Segregated and arranged in my deranged mind? Perhaps it is, perhaps not.

Just understand that this revelation is between us. You will read this and laugh. Pinch your nose or roll your eyes. You should know also that this letter is taking me a lot to write. This scourge for freedom. This struggle towards making you understand diversity like I were teaching a child to count backwards. A very self-absorbed child.

I am a young man in love with my cell phone, music, books, fashion shows, female musicians and of course boys. I shouldn’t concern myself with what you think, it shouldn’t matter if you accept me or not. If you see me as a stench. An upset in all things normal and collected. But we are here aren’t we? I am making you understand now am I not? (Have you cleared out your mailbox as I instructed? My words may not be consistent, they may be broken and suppressed by the structures of singularity, but they will come, it will depend on how you take it) I am pulling you out of your everyday into thin slices of bizarre days, am I really doing that?

Yes, about my skin. You sure are one hell of a curious somebody. And yea I met one of your kind keeping tab of people like me on Facebook. It’s hilariously pathetic how you ostensibly hate me, yet make sure to catch a wiff of my every existence.

That by a corner, this skin, yes this skin. What else would you like to know about it? How plump it is? How it dresses in rainbow themed singlets that sling low to his delicate ribs? Shorts that latch onto his supple skin, and run well above his knee? This skin has found, and is finding a new language. Not really new because it was a suppressed understanding. So it isn’t hard for him to learn the codes; the transiting ways of avoiding your knawing misunderstanding.

This skin has Sia’s ‘I am Alive’ on his lips, and tests his vocals on Beyoncé’s ‘I Was Here’. He walks with the mind of an audience about him. He stays somewhere uncontrollably exciting by day, but retreats into a cold, cold room, with tears for scathing warmth.

And I am sure you know why. I am sure you understand the law of avoidance to a fraction. I am sure you don’t know what it feels like not to find someone who can unabashedly speak in a language he understands, for many miles away from his being.

*******

But that is not me. Me. Me? You wouldn’t want to know me. Me agrees with all that you do and say. Me has no inhibitions nor devilish tendencies. Me tries to fiercely be like you, so it would burn away the traces of that boy. Me winks at girls because it is how things are to be. Me hates what you hate. Which means that me hates me.

******

So you see why I need this person? Why I need that boy that stands no matter the jabs. That lives no matter the deaths. That knows his truth and isn’t afraid to find it.